


Curse of Strahd: Into the Mists

by xmana033



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Barovia, Blood and Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Insanity, Physical Abuse, Psychological Horror, Vampire Bites, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmana033/pseuds/xmana033
Summary: A party of adventurers is lured into a dark land called Barovia, which they find out is being ruled over by a vampire lord, Count Strahd Von Zarovich. Guided by a fortune-card reading given to them by a mysterious old woman, they set out to destroy the vampire and free Barovia.Ismark Kolyanovich just wants to keep his sister safe. He has no idea why the devil Strahd has taken an interest in her. So when a group of armed foreigners shows up, he seizes his chance and enlists their help in transporting her to a safer place.When Ezmerelda D'Avenir came back home to Barovia looking for her teacher, she expected to be caught up in a battle. She did not expect it to be the battle of a lifetime.Escher has been the Count's favored consort for seventy-five years. But when the Count takes an interest in a young Barovian woman, Escher knows he has to take matters into his own hands.The strands of fate weave ever closer, pulling these unlikely characters together in order to survive the curse of Strahd. Welcome to the mists.





	1. Prologue

The dark figure stood upon the overlook, a small frown flitting across the cruel angles of his face as he surveyed the dreary, mist shrouded town a thousand feet below him. He had long since grown bored of toying with its inhabitants, but tonight, he felt something different, almost as if it might be worth his while to visit the town. The blood of the commoners was full of dirt and sweat, but there was still noble blood hidden within the town’s cowering people, and it had been too long, years, since he had indulged. 

Very well. It was decided. Without hesitation, he gracefully leapt off of the overlook, free falling through the freezing drizzle of rain. In the time it took for lightning to slash through the air, he had completed the now familiar transformation, and soared towards the town on leathery wings. Any unlucky person who happened to be walking the streets would only see a large bat flapping through the air, but even that sight would send them cowering for the illusion of safety in their homes.

He alighted on the steeple of the old, run-down church, already planning tonight’s hunt. He would start with the mansion of the burgomeister, he decided He returned to human form and dropped from the steeple, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He walked confidently through the old streets, his cloak spreading behind him like the wings he had had moments before. Twice, he saw terrified faces peeking out from behind drawn curtains, which quickly disappeared as he passed, looks of horror distorting their features. He smiled sadistically, as he had forgotten how much he enjoyed this. 

Presently, he reached the burgomeister’s mansion, if one could even call it that. It had once been a fine building, but now it squatted tiredly among the weeds that had forced their way up to the walls of the building. The wrought-iron fence was caked with rust, and the roof was missing half its tiles. He pushed aside the gate with a creak of rusted hinges, and began to prowl around the house, planning out a ruse to trick the inhabitants into allowing him in. As he rounded the corner of the house, a light in one of the windows caught his attention. In the room, a young woman sat with her back to the window, evidently reading something by the light of a tallow candle. She had long, auburn hair, almost like… No, it couldn’t be. 

As if she sensed his presence, she turned around and looked out the window, clutching an old holy symbol to her chest. But it was not the sight of the holy symbol that made the vampire recoil. It was her face, as familiar to him as his own, that made him stumble back. He stared at her, mouth slightly open, a look that was almost love softening his face. A single tear made of blood traced a red trail down his cheek, dropping onto the hard ground. It was her. 

She had been reborn.


	2. Escher

Escher walked quickly through the empty halls of Castle Ravenloft. He noticed a few of the Count’s other minions staring at him from the shadows as he swept by, but they knew better than to bother their master’s favorite. He hissed at a few females who didn’t get out of the way quickly enough, taking sadistic pleasure in their looks of fear and loathing. Being the Count’s favorite didn’t exactly make him very popular. Arriving at the study, where the Count spent most of his time, he rapped sharply on the door. 

“Come in,” Escher’s master snarled from within. Escher was slightly taken aback at his master’s tone. He normally kept his emotions in check very well; something must have happened. Swallowing his doubts, Escher only hesitated for a split second before opening the door and entering the room.  
It was warm and comfortable in the room. The blazing fire illuminated the many bookshelves that Escher had spent countless hours perusing. The Count himself was seated in one of the plush chairs that sat in front of the fire. He was staring at the portrait above the fireplace, which depicted a strikingly beautiful woman in a purple gown, her elegant face framed by long auburn hair. A plaque at the bottom of the frame read Tatyana. Escher knew that the woman had some connection to the Count’s past, but had yet to ask him about her, and he had never volunteered the information.

Escher dropped into a bow as the Count turned towards him, a look of fury distorting his features.

“It is I, Escher, my lord. I bring news.” Immediately the Count’s usual mask of impassiveness dropped over his face. 

“Ah, Escher. Forgive me. I have seen something that… troubled me. Do continue.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Escher straightened. “A bird just arrived from Arrigal. You may want to see this.” Escher held out the small, rolled up piece of paper. The Count took it and unrolled it, his eyes scanning quickly over the writing. A slow smile spread across his face.

“So, Arrigal has found some new amusement for me,” he chuckled. “About time.”

“Indeed, my lord,” agreed Escher. 

The Count looked up as if remembering that Escher was still there. “Yes, thank you, Escher, you are dismissed,” he said. 

Escher bowed. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. He started to leave, but then turned back around. “My lord…” he said, and then hesitated.

n

“You begin to try my patience, Escher. What is it?” the Count demanded, a slight edge to his tone.

“I was merely wondering if you would visit me in my chambers later. Forgive me for being so assuming,” Escher said.

“No, I don’t think I will tonight, Escher,” the Count said. “I have other matters to attend to. Other things to ponder.”

“Of course, my lord,” Escher said, and exited the room with a bow. As he closed the door, he saw the Count turn back to the portrait on the wall. The door closed with a thump, leaving Escher with a faint sense of jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Hope you enjoyed the prologue and first chapter. Sorry they were so short, I promise they'll get longer! I'm gonna try to update this story on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. On Wednesdays too if I have the time. If you like it, please leave a comment with your feedback, I really appreciate it. Thanks so much for reading this far! Bye for now.


	3. Adrian

Night had fallen over the town of Red Larch, one of the many towns along the Long Road. A dreary rain had been falling the entire day, and now at night, the rain had solidified into a thick fog that covered the village, coating the cobblestones with moisture and seeming to choke off all light. But inside The Helm at Highsun, the village tavern, the fire was roaring and the ale was warm and frothy.

Adrian sat at a table in the corner with his two best friends and adventuring partners, a halfling named Errica and a half-elf named Jaren, currently in the midst of reminiscing about their childhoods and exchanging funny stories about each other. The three had been friends for their entire lives, since they were urchins in the city of Luskan, where they had complimented each other nicely, with Errica stealing them food, Adrian keeping the other two safe from thugs, and Jaren being the brains of the entire operation. Adrian and Errica were competing to see who could tell the most embarrassing story about the other, while Jaren sat in silence, smiling softly. He had always been the quiet one.

“And right when you were about to steal the apples, Errica,” Adrian was saying, laughing, “the shopkeeper came out and he was the biggest, burliest half-orc any of us had ever seen. The look on your face was priceless! He cracked his knuckles and asked, ‘You weren’t about to steal anything, were you, young lady?’ and you, who have always been able to talk your way out of anything with that silver tongue of yours, all you could squeak out was, ‘No sir.’”

Errica, who had just taken a generous sip of ale, spewed it across the table, nearly hitting Adrian, who dodged out of the way, chuckling.

“I remember that! I nearly pissed myself that time,” she laughed, slapping her knee. “I also remember a time when you--” But she was cut short as the door opened with a bang. The tavern fell silent as a man stepped through the doorway and surveyed the room. He was wearing a heavy traveling cloak, dampened from the thick fog, which he threw back to reveal colorful clothing. He had a silk sash around his waist, which was supporting a sheathed scimitar, the blade forming an elegant curve. His features were uncommon for this part of the world, with olive skin and a large hooked nose. He sported a pointed black beard and mustache, and his long, wavy black hair was wrapped in a silk headscarf to keep it out of his face. He looked around the tavern, and his eyes fell on Adrian and his group. He began slowly making his way towards their table, seemingly unbothered by the entire tavern watching him, his heavy booted footfalls and the jingling of coins cutting through the silence that had fallen over the room. Upon reaching their table, he stood in a wide stance with his arms crossed, speaking in a heavy accent.

“I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night.” Adrian frowned. He had never heard of these “Svalich Woods” before, and judging from his companions expressions, they hadn’t either. Ignoring their questioning looks, the man pulled a sealed letter from his leather satchel and dropped it onto the table. “Take the west road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.” The man strode over to the bar and dropped a purse heavy with coins onto the table. He said to the nervous-looking barkeep, “Fill their glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” With that, he strode out the door.

“Wait one second,” Adrian called, but the door had already slammed shut.

“What was about?” Errica asked curiously.

“Let’s find out!” Adrian replied, picking up the letter on the table and breaking the seal, which depicted an eagle with wings spread in front of a shield with a castle emblazoned on it. The letter was written in a slanted, flowing hand. Adrian handed it to Jaren, the only literate one among the three, who read it out loud. It read:

Hail to thee of might and valor:

I, a lowly servant of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance.

The love of my life, Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted by an evil so deadly that even the good people of our village cannot protect her. She languishes from her wound, and I would have her saved from this menace.

There is much wealth in this community. I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea. 

Come quickly, for her time is at hand! All that I have shall be thine!

Kolyan Indirovich

Burgomeister

Jaren looked up. “Have either of you ever heard of Barovia?” he asked. Adrian and Errica shook their heads.

“What do you guys think?” Adrian asked the other two. 

“Do you remember the part that said ‘There is much wealth in this community?” Errica asked, and Adrian nodded. “Well, I think that’s all the answer we need!” she continued with a wink.

“And the chance to help someone in need,” Adrian added.

“Well, it’s settled, then,” Jaren said with finality. “We leave in the morning?”

The other two nodded their assent.


	4. Ezmerelda

Ezmerelda d’Avenir sighed as the once-familiar sight of the East Gates of Barovia loomed out of the mist before her. There was no way she could honestly say that it was good to be back. Being a Vistana-- one of the nomadic people who inhabited Barovia-- she could come and go as she pleased, but she hadn’t been back to this accursed place in years. 

She looked up at the massive gates with apprehension. Ever since she was a young girl, these gates had always given her the creeps. She would always hide in the wagon when her family would pass through them on their way into or out of Barovia.

The gates themselves were massive iron bars set into an even more massive stone wall. They were flanked by headless statues of armored knights, twenty times the size of a person. The heads lay in the weeds that choked the feet of the statues. Whether the heads had been hacked off by some human enemy or by something much more powerful and sinister, she did not know. All Ezmerelda knew was that she would much rather the heads have been attached to the bodies. Where they were, they had been scarred with graffiti and slashed by what looked like claw marks. She clicked her tongue at her horse, Fate, and her wagon began to slowly trundle forward. 

As she neared the gates, they opened of their own accord with a long, grinding screech that sounded eerily like tormented screaming. Ezmerelda shivered. She had forgotten that they did that. 

She passed through the gates and they closed behind her with a sense of finality. Ezmerelda shivered again. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now trapped in Barovia forever. Don’t be stupid, she thought to herself. You’re a Vistana. You can leave whenever you want. But somehow, that didn’t make her feel any better.

As she trundled down the muddy track in the chilling drizzle that had started up, she reflected on the strange turn of events that had brought her back to Barovia. 

Ezmerelda had not seen hide nor hair of her old teacher, Dr Rudolph Van Richten, for years-- and she liked it that way. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with the old codger. He had done his best, but due to what had happened to his son, he couldn’t trust her, a Vistana. He kept secrets from her, they got into arguments frequently, and the main reason she suggested they part ways was that she wanted to leave with at least some part of their relationship intact. But lately, her thoughts had been turning more and more to him, wondering if he was still alive, and wanting to see him again. After much thought, she had decided to try and track him down.

This was easier said than done. She had tried all her main contacts, she had pulled in favors that she had earned over years of monster hunting, and nothing. Slippery old bastard. But finally, from a werewolf specialist in the Misty Forest, she had learned, to her horror, that there were rumors that Van Richten was going after the biggest prize of them all-- the near-mythical vampire Count Strahd Von Zarovich, Lord of Barovia, the land of Ezmerelda’s youth. 

Ezmerelda was, quite frankly, furious that Van Richten had decided to go after Strahd without her, so she had resolved to return to Barovia and help him hunt down the vampire. In preparation for what would probably be the most dangerous job of her life, she had spent the next few months and the rest of her favors researching all she could about the Count. There was precious little to find. 

It was known that he inhabited a castle called Castle Ravenloft in the land of Barovia. No one she had spoken to knew exactly where Barovia was, but as a Vistana, Ezmerelda could bypass that problem. As to the vampire’s powers, he obviously had all the strengths and weaknesses of a normal vampire, like the ability to charm weak-minded people, the ability to turn into a bat or a wolf at will, strong regeneration abilities, aversion to sunlight and running water, paralyzed by a stake to the heart while in his resting place, etc. But it was also hinted that he had some additional form of unknown magical protection, and it was believed that he was a powerful wizard as well.

Over her years of monster hunting, Ezmerelda had learned that many of the most powerful vampires had hidden weaknesses one could exploit, like people from their past life, or magical items that they were particularly weak to, so she had devoted time and research to trying to find out the Count’s, but to no avail. So armed with her research and her trusted gear, she had set out to Barovia. Once there, she planned to speak to the old Vistani seer, Madam Eva, to see if she could give Ezmerelda a lead on Van Richten’s location.

She had departed on a dreary, misty morning. As she had driven her wagon down the road, she had begun filling her mind with thoughts of Barovia, distasteful as it was. Concentrating on the road in front of her, she had blocked out the mist, which had thickened around her, the trees, which had become dark shapes that seemed to move of their own accord, and the silence, which had fallen over the forest like a candle being blown out. She had done this for four grueling hours until, all at once, the mist had lessened around her, and the massive dark shape of the gates of Barovia had loomed up before her eyes. 

She was home.


	5. Ismark

Ismark knew he shouldn’t have drunk so much. It wasn’t so much the pounding headache or the feeling that the ground was tilting back and forth. It wasn’t that he knew that the news that the burgomeister’s son had passed out drunk last night would spread like wildfire. It wasn’t even the fact that as soon as he woke up in the tavern early that morning, he puked his guts up all over the albeit filthy bar. No, what gave him enough terror to get up and begin running as fast as he could towards his home was the fact that he had woken up in the tavern. 

He had left Ireena home all night.

Now, normally, he wouldn’t have thought twice about this, as his sister was a grown woman, and could take care of herself. What terrified Ismark Kolyanovich was that, three nights ago, on his way home from the tavern, he had glimpsed a dark shape outside their house. It had been on the edge of his lantern-light, and had done a double-take as soon as he noticed it, but it had been gone, and Ismark had supposed he could’ve imagined it-- but when you lived under the shadow of Castle Ravenloft, you learned never to assume you’d imagined anything. Ireena had greeted him with her usual upbeatness, and he had decided not to tell her about the incident. He was glad he didn’t, because later that night, he realized that the shape had been outside her window. He had resolved to be extra watchful. 

Well, there’s that resolution broken, he thought.

The night after he had first glimpsed the shape, he saw it again-- this time actually scaling the wall to his sister’s window. He had shouted and began to run towards it, but had tripped over a root and landed. On his face. Hard. Hard enough to see lights dancing in front of his eyes. When he had shaken it off, the shape was gone, and the only living thing around was a bat winging its way upward towards the distant castle.

Last night had been a bad one for Ismark. He had gone to the tavern as normal, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the shape and what it could be. He had the dark shadows of a suspicion forming in the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to even consider acknowledging them. He had drank glass after glass of cheap wine, his mood getting darker and darker. In the back of his mind, he had known that this was a bad idea, but his conscious mind didn’t care. The last thing he remembered was noticing a woman around his age enter the bar. She had the features of a Vistana, with olive skin and long curly black hair, and he had never seen her before. He had noticed something strange about her right boot, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He had shrugged and called for another glass of wine, and then nothing. Upon waking up, he had sat up and promptly thrown up all over himself, then rushed out the door, leaving a blank-faced barkeep to mechanically begin to clean it up.

Now, he was stumbling down the road toward his father’s mansion. Not even bothering to open the gate, he vaulted the fence sloppily, narrowly missing impaling his hand on the pointed wrought-iron fence posts. His heart clenched with terror as he saw that Ireena’s window had been smashed. He was too late.

He tore up the front steps and smashed against the door, shoving the key at the keyhole, missing three times before finally getting the fucking thing in there. He threw open the door and took the stairs two at a time, calling, “Ireena! Answer me! IREENA!”

Ismark tried the handle of her door, finding it locked. Hearing sobbing from inside, he abandoned all caution and threw himself at the door, smashing it open, ignoring the pain exploding in his shoulder. What he saw made him stop dead in horror.

The room was covered in blood. It was splattered up the walls, covering the bed, pooling on the floor. The window was smashed, the jagged edges dripping with more of the red fluid. In the center of the room lay two bodies, one of them recognizable as Ismark’s father, Kolyan Indirovich. He wasn’t moving. The other was Ireena, shaking with sobs, her body thrown over their father’s. Both of them were covered in more blood, which soaked Ireena’s previously white nightdress, the red shocking against what little of the original color remained.

Ismark approached her slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. From here he could see the cuts disfiguring his father’s face, making him seem alien and unfamiliar. Ismark knelt down next to his sister and gently put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, but seeing that it was him, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, exposing their father’s body. Ismark couldn’t suppress a gasp at this added horror. 

There was a hole right through his chest, where his heart would’ve been, while the organ in question lay next to the body, still oozing blood. Cracked ribs protruded from the flesh at odd angles, and Ismark’s gorge rose. He averted his eyes from the hideous sight, turning instead to Ireena, who was mumbling something into his chest. Ismark leaned closer, struggling to make out the words.

“The eyes the eyes blazing eyes he wanted me he needed me he loved me father’s dead so much blood the eyes blazing eyes fiery eyes the eyes the eyes the eyes the eyes…” She degenerated into sobbing.

Ismark’s own eyes stung as he shushed her gently “Shhh, Ireena, it’s going to be alright. I’m here, Ireena, I’ll protect you,” he said, knowing he hadn’t and hating himself for it. “Come on, let’s get you to my bed.”

He helped her up, and she clung to his shoulder, sobbing softly. He guided her gently to his bed and helped her to get the bloodstained nightgown off. She huddled under the covers, still sobbing, but within minutes, she had fallen into an exhausted slumber. Ismark stayed there for a few minutes, watching her. He kissed her on the forehead and was about to leave when she turned restlessly and his saw something that chilled him to the core.

There, on her neck, were two small puncture wounds about an inch and a half apart, barely noticeable through the blood, yet now painfully obvious to Ismark. He stumbled back a step. The shadowy theories he had contemplated earlier were now thrown into bright light.  
Morninglord forgive me, Ismark thought. This is all my fault.

Unable to keep the boiling rage inside of him under control any longer, he pounded down the stairs and fell to his knees outside. 

Then Ismark Kolyanovich, Burgomeister of Barovia Village, slammed his fists into the cold, unyielding ground and screamed his rage at the flat, uncaring grey sky.


	6. Escher

Escher finished the last pages of the book he had been reading and closed it with a sigh. It was one he had read multiple times, a book on military strategy penned by one of the Count’s ancestors, Vladislav Von Zarovich. Escher had always loved the intricacies of battlefield strategy, and he fancied the Count would give him personal lessons one day, but up to now, that day had never come. He stood up and stretched with a catlike yawn. 

Ludmilla Vilisevic, another of the Count’s offspring and the closest thing Escher had to a friend, looked up from her own book.

“Finished?” she asked, and Escher nodded.

His and Ludmilla’s relationship was unusual. She was one of the Count’s three female consorts-- the ones he liked to call his “brides.” There were always three of them, and they came and went faster than the Count’s main consort-- either male or female, this was a position highly sought after by the Count’s offspring, and it was currently held by Escher himself, as it had been for nearly seventy-five years now. As such, it was impossible for Escher to befriend any of the lesser vampires, as they were only hunting for more favor with the Count, and it was impossible to befriend the brides, as they were envious of his own high favor with the Count. Ludmilla was the exception, as she was the least favored of the three brides, and therefore unlikely to gain any position with the Count no matter whether she befriended Escher or not. So they had a cordial relationship, which was more than he had with anyone besides the Count himself.

Ludmilla went back to her reading, and Escher began to move away to get a new book.

_ Need flooded through him as he clung to the windowsill, staring through the glass at the woman he had given up his life and soul for four hundred years ago. She lay peacefully in her bed, the graceful curve of her neck drawing all his attention. He stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. Tonight was the night he would finally make his move. His entire life (and death) had been leading up to this moment.  _

_ He knocked gently on the window, and she turned over in her sleep. He knocked again, with a little more force this time, and she awoke with a gasp. He ducked beneath the windowsill, hoping to get her to open the window to see what it was. Sure enough, her curiosity got the better of her, just as he knew it would. Death hadn’t changed her a bit.  _

_ She slid open the window, and he whispered, “Look down.” She did, gasping as she saw him and opening her mouth to scream. _

_ “Shhh, shhh, I only want to talk, I swear it,” he said urgently. She stopped, still looking scared, but curiosity was again taking over her expression. Fearless and curious. That was his girl. “Do you not remember me?” _

_ She shook her head. “No, I’ve never met you in my life. Yet…” He waited expectantly. “There is something familiar about you. Where have I seen you before?” _

_ “May I come in? We can talk more easily inside,” he said, not answering her question. She hesitated, very rightly suspicious of a strange man outside her window in the wee hours of the morning, but, playing right into his expectations, her curiosity and, most likely, that strange sense of familiarity she must be feeling got the better of her yet again. _

_ “Of course,” she said. “Come right in.” _

_ He climbed through the window silently and stepped onto the floor, closing the window behind him. He bowed low to her. “Think long and hard, my lady. I know you know me. The memories are just locked deep inside you.” _

_ She furrowed her brow, obviously deep in thought. “I… A name. A name just popped into my head. Is it alright if I say it?” _

_ “Of course, my lady,” he replied, exultation flooding through him. She remembered him! But the next word out of her mouth changed his joy into a red-hot fury. _

_ “Sergei?” she asked tentatively. The accursed name reverberated throughout his head, and for a second, he was speechless with rage. Then, he exploded. _

_ “HOW DARE YOU MENTION HIS NAME!” he roared, sending her shrieking into the corner. He advanced on her, his eyes blazing with fury. “HE IS DEAD! HE IS NOT COMING BACK TO YOU!” _

_ The door was thrown open by an older man in his nightshirt, evidently the girl’s father, judging by his next words. _

_ “Get away from my daughter!” he yelled, and charged. _

_ The vampire grabbed him and deftly twisted his arm behind his back, stopping his pitiful attack. He picked up the old man as easily as if he were picking up a twig and smashed his head through the window. The old man screamed in agony, his cries intermingling with the girl in the corner’s. The vampire then thrust a hand into the man’s back, his sharp fingernails tearing through flesh and bone, and ripped out his heart. The organ spurted blood everywhere, over the walls, the bed, the vampire, and the girl herself. _

_ Seeing red, he dropped the body and the detached organ on the floor and turned his gaze on the girl. As soon as she met his eyes, she stopped screaming, silenced by whatever she saw there, as he was overcome with hunger and the need for her, feeling his fangs slide out from his gums. Advancing on her, he picked her up, pinned her against the wall, and sank his teeth into her neck.  _

_ Pure, undiluted pleasure flooded through him. Her blood tasted like citrus and roses and sex. He closed his eyes and bathed in the sensation, feeling himself harden. He had waited for this moment for four hundred years, and now that it was finally here, it was pure bliss. _

_ But in the back of his mind, he knew it couldn’t go to completion. He couldn’t turn her right now, he had to do it peacefully, he had to have her fully under his control, mind, body, and soul. Feeling her pathetic struggles start to grow weaker, he reluctantly detached himself, dropping her to the floor, where she crawled over to the dead body of her father and threw herself over it, her own body wracked by sobs. _

_ He surveyed the damage he had wrought. Blood was everywhere. The girl lay weeping over the dead body. He was breathing heavily, rage still coursing through his veins, and he knew he couldn’t take her now. He had to regain control of his emotions first. He could always come back to her later. _

_ He heard the front door open, and a voice called, “Ireena! Answer me! IREENA!” It must be that accursed brother, the one who had noticed him the previous two nights. The vampire strode over to the door and locked it, just to spite the whelp. _

_ Then he made the transformation into a creature of the air and sped out the window into the cold, foggy morning. _

Escher opened his eyes with a gasp, his mind racing. What  _ was _ that? Ludmilla was shaking him, calling his name. He sat up.

“Oh, good, you’re awake! You were out for a while there. Are you alright?” she asked him.

Escher was too lost in thought to answer. If he was right about what had occurred, he had just experienced what the Count was doing at that moment. He had never heard of this happening before! He must research this more.

“Escher?” Ludmilla asked. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he replied irritably. Ignoring her further questions, he darted about the room with superhuman speed, grabbing all the books about vampires and vampirism that he could find. Rushing to the door with a hasty, “Until later, my lady,” to Ludmilla, he sped up to his rooms in the guard tower to study the matter further.


	7. Ezmerelda

Ezmerelda arrived at the tavern in Barovia Village later that evening. The first thing that caught her attention was the sign above the door, which was rather interesting, she thought. It had once read ‘Blood of the Vine Tavern,’ assumedly meaning wine, but the ‘f’ had been scratched out and replaced with an ‘n,’ so that the sign now read ‘Blood  _ on _ the Vine Tavern.’

She entered the building, one of the few patrons here. There were three Vistani women seated at a table near the entrance. They eyed her with interest, seeing her Vistani features, no doubt, but she ignored them and sat down at the bar next to the only other patron, a young man around her age, with shoulder length, dark blonde hair, and fine, if a bit moth-eaten, clothing. He was obviously insanely drunk, for he glowered at her darkly, yelled for more wine, then promptly passed out. Ezmerelda rolled her eyes.  _ Men _ . 

She ordered a glass of wine from the blank-faced barkeep, which cost one copper, and asked if there were any rooms available. He answered, in a flat tone, that he didn’t know, that the three women near the entrance were the owners and she should ask them. With reluctance, she drained her wineglass and headed over to them. Two of them were older women, with grey hair and wrinkles, and the other one was younger with dark brown hair and smooth features.

“Hello,” she said. “I would like--”

“A Vistana, are you?” one of the older ones asked abruptly, cutting Ezmerelda off. 

Ezmerelda bristled. “Yes, I am, I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said sharply. “I want a room.”

Ignoring her statement, the other older woman asked, “Where’s the rest of your family?” 

“None of your business. If you’re going to be rude like this, I’ll take my money elsewhere.”

The three women laughed. “There is no elsewhere, honey,” the younger woman said, smiling. 

“That’s it, I’m sleeping in my wagon!” Ezmerelda exclaimed.

“One last thing,” the younger woman said sincerely, and Ezmerelda paused at the door. “You  _ are _ going to visit Madam Eva, aren’t you?” Ezmerelda merely nodded before heading out into the freezing drizzle.

 

The next morning, Ezmerelda awoke early. She climbed out of her wagon and stretched, then froze, her eyes upward. The mist had dissipated during the night and now, she caught her first glimpse of Castle Ravenloft in years. It loomed a thousand feet above the village at the top of a spire of rock known as the Pillarstone of Ravenloft, a silent deadly sentinel casting its dark shadow over the village. A chill went down her spine as she saw that there was a single light on at the top of the high tower, which seemed to her to be an unblinking eye, watching her tirelessly. She shuddered at the thought of living under this... monstrosity every day of your life. She was glad to put some distance between her and the village that morning. 

She remembered there being two major Vistani encampments, one at the Tser Pool, and one near the fortified town of Vallaki on the other side of the Balinok Mountains. The one at Tser Pool was closer, so she would check to see if Madam Eva was there before heading to the Vallaki encampment. To be honest, Ezmerelda was a bit nervous to be around Vistani again. She had been a little girl the last time she had been around her people.

The day had lightened by the time she got to the Ivlis River Bridge. She paused in front of  it. Since the village, she had been traveling in the Ivlis River floodplain, so the land had been flat and clear, but on the other side of the arching stone walkway, the land began to slope upward, and the trees had grown into a dense forest, the Svalich Woods.

The bridge itself was a hulking thing of black stone, with leering gargoyles flanking the entrances to both sides of the bridge, seeming almost life-like despite their crumbling features, as if they would leap at her as soon as she set foot on the archway. Ezmerelda steeled herself and began across. She had forgotten just how hard it was to live everyday life in Barovia. Of course, her life was far from everyday, but nevertheless… 

Nearly an hour later, she came to a crossroads. An old wooden gallows creaked in the wind that was whistling down from the high road to the west, a frayed rope dancing from it’s beam. Next to the gallows, a crumbling, mossy stone wall enclosed a small graveyard filled with unmarked graves. Across from the gallows, an old signpost pointed in three directions. Back the direction she had come, it was labeled ‘Barovia Village.’ The left fork, which sloped upwards, beginning the climb into the Balinok Mountains, was labeled ‘Ravenloft/Vallaki.’ The right fork, however, which slanted slightly downward, was the one Ezmerelda turned Fate towards, for it was labeled ‘Tser Pool.’ 

The road gradually faded, being replaced by a muddy wagon trail that wound through the silent trees. Suddenly, the mist and the trees disappeared, replaced by black storm clouds boiling overhead. Ezmerelda was in a clearing next to a small lake formed by the widening of the Ivlis, only a few hundred feet across. In the center of the clearing was a small bonfire with several brightly dressed figures sitting around it. Ezmerelda caught the mournful strains of an accordion floating away on the light breeze blowing across the Tser Pool. Spaced haphazardly around the fire were four Vistani wagons and five brightly colored tents. A sixth, more permanent tent with a sagging roof was set up a little ways away from the fire. It was lit from within. A narrow footpath continued on the other side of the clearing, meandering away into the trees.

Ezmerelda parked Fate and her wagon next to one of the other wagons. One of the figures by the fire noticed her and waved her over, so she leapt down from the seat of the wagon and walked over to the fire.

“Kinswoman! Come sit and enjoy the fire! Here, have some wine,” the man said, passing her a wineskin. She accepted it with gratitude, sitting down and taking a slug, then passing it on. She began listening to the accordion player, who was in the midst of reciting a darkly comedic love ballad about the star-crossed love between a madwoman and a zombie. Ezmerelda found herself chuckling and tapping her foot along to the beat, despite the slightly gruesome subject material and the graphic lyrics. The man finished the song with a flourish, and Ezmerelda laughed and clapped with the others as he bowed and accepted the wineskin from his neighbor. Her nervousness was swiftly vanishing. Why had she been scared to be among these people? She felt at home here.

The Vistana on her right, the one who’d called her over originally, turned to her.

“You’re here to see Madam Eva?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Is she here?” she asked. 

He gestured towards the larger tent. “She waits for you in the main tent,” he said. Ezmerelda gulped, feeling her doubts returning. She stood up and began to head over, but the man called her back. “Hey, listen to me,” he said. “It was destined that you would visit us here. You need not be afraid of destiny.” She smiled at him, appreciating his words, and he smiled back. She then turned and walked toward the main tent.

She was about to knock on the tent pole to announce her presence when a voice like the crackling of dry leaves spoke from within. “Ezmerelda d’Avenir. Enter. I have been expecting you.” 

Startled, Ezmerelda pushed aside the tent flap and entered the structure. The smoky interior of the tent was dim. The walls were covered in dancing shadows cast by a fire in the middle of the floor. A withered old woman wrapped in colorful silks sat at a low table beyond the fire. There was a cot in one corner of the tent. A tea kettle was just beginning to whistle over the fire.

“Come on in, dearie. I made some tea for you,” Madam Eva said with a grandmotherly smile.

“How did you know it was me?” Ezmerelda asked.

“Oh, I have my ways,” the old woman chuckled, pouring two mugs full of hot water and adding tea leaves. Of course. Ezmerelda should have known she wasn’t going to get a straight answer. Madam Eva handed Ezmerelda a cup of tea. Ezmerelda blew on the steaming liquid.

“So, how are you finding your return to Barovia?” Madam Eva asked.

“Even drearier than I remember it,” Ezmerelda replied, and the old woman chuckled again.

“It is that,” she said. “Come on, drink up!”

Ezmerelda sipped at her tea. It was still quite hot. “So, are you going to read my tea leaves?” she asked, and was surprised when the seer tipped her head back and cackled with laughter. Ezmerelda felt her cheeks redden.

“My dear, you’ve been away from the Vistani for far too long! You should know that tea leaves and crystal balls and the like are just cheap tricks to impress simpletons. In fact, the only thing that I have access to that can actually see the future is the tarokka deck,” she said, holding out her previously empty hand, which now held a worn deck of cards. “But make no mistake, only the most gifted of Vistani can use a tarokka deck to its full potential. So no,” she continued. “It’s just tea. It’s good for you though, so drink up!” Ezmerelda took a gulp, scalding her throat in the process, but slowly, as the tea cooled, she was able to finish it without  permanently damaging her esophagus. It warmed her belly, and, coupled with the fire, gave her a sense of warmth and comfort-- a feeling she had never expected to feel in this godless land. Once she had finished, she set down the teacup and leaned forward purposefully.

“I’ve come--”

“To look for your old teacher, Van Richten, I know.” Ezmerelda opened her mouth, then closed it again, deciding against asking how the other woman knew this. 

“Yes,” she said. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“Not yet,” said Madam Eva, handing the tarokka deck to Ezmerelda, who took it gingerly, and the old woman smiled. “Don’t worry, it won’t bite. Shuffle it up a bit.”

Embarrassed, she began shuffling the deck.

“Think of your teacher,” Madam Eva said. “Think about your desire to find him. Think about why you want to see him again. You can stop now. Hand me the deck.”  Ezmerelda obeyed. The seer placed the top two cards face down on the table. She gestured to the first one. “This represents the significance of the place where Van Richten is hiding.” She gesture to the second one. “This represents the physical properties of the place.” She took out another smaller deck, gave it a shuffle, and pulled the top card from it. “This card, taken from the high deck, represents Van Richten himself.”

She turned over the first card. It depicted an old man with a long white beard holding a staff, with magic flowing from his fingertips. “The Master of Stars, the wizard, represents a place of great hidden knowledge and magical lore.” She revealed the second card. This one was a picture of a woman in armor with three swords emblazoned on the breastplate. She held a helmet under one arm. “The Three of Swords, the soldier, represents a place of fortitude, with the ability to withstand much hardship.” Madam Eva revealed the final card. It had a picture of a human skull in a bell jar. Ezmerelda’s heart clenched. Did this mean that Van Richten was dead? But Madam Eva didn’t look worried. “The Artifact. It represents something that must be protected at all costs-- in this case, Van Richten’s identity. Expect him to be in disguise. As to the other two cards…” She stared at them for a minute or so, seemingly deep in thought. Then she spoke. “He is hiding in the abandoned tower on the shores of Lake Baratok. It used to belong to a wizard, Khazan, but when he died centuries ago, the tower was abandoned. Van Richten is now using it as his base of operations in his vampire hunt.”

Ezmerelda stood. “Thank you. I must now be off if I wish to reach Vallaki by nightfall.” The old woman stood as well, and before Ezmerelda could react, had pulled her into a hug.

“Good luck, my child. May the blessings of Mother Night go with you.”

Ezmerelda nodded her thanks and stepped out of the tent into the cold rain that had started, the flap closing behind her. She walked over to her wagon, climbing into the seat with the ease of years of practice. She clicked her tongue at Fate, who neighed softly and set off back they way they had come. Soon the Vistani camp had disappeared around a bend, and she was on her way through the Balinok Mountains-- to Vallaki.


	8. Adrian

They left the Helm at Highsun early the next morning after Jaren had prepared his spells, traveling by horse out of the village by the west road, as per the strange man’s instructions. The mist still hadn’t fully abated, but Adrian expected it to burn off within a few hours. And sure enough, by highsun, the mist was almost all gone. 

The group stopped for lunch under a large, ancient oak tree. Errica, who fancied herself a musician, took out the lute she had brought and began to tune it-- or rather, untune it, as one could hardly call the ugly twangs she was making “tuning.” She plunked out a few discordant melodies, wailing slightly pitifully along with it, until Adrian finally swore at her and told her to stop before he went deaf.

As they continued to travel, however, the mist came back with a vengeance. Within the span of about thirty minutes, Adrian couldn’t see ten feet in front of him. It was all he could do to keep following the road. The mist soaked his clothing, weapons, and other belongings until he was thoroughly miserable, and judging from Errica’s mumbled cursing, she was as well. Only Jaren seemed unfazed by their present situation, but nothing ever seemed to faze him, so that wasn’t saying much. 

They continued like this for four or five hours, Adrian steadily getting more and more disheartened. He was thinking of suggesting a meal break when the mist suddenly lightened up, though it didn’t fully disappear, revealing that they were in a dense forest of tall, dark pine trees, their tops lost in the mist above them. There was something oddly sinister about them. They seemed to lean inwards as they grew, so the road felt like a claustrophobic tunnel. The only light that made it through the trees was pale and death-grey. The woods had the silence of an unmarked grave, yet seemed to exude an unvoiced scream. And strangest of all, Adrian had the unnerving feeling that the trees themselves were watching the group pass by. It didn’t help that the horses began to snort nervously and had to be calmed.

Right when his nerves were shot, they rounded a bend in the road and a massive stone structure seemed to leap up out of the mist with such suddenness that it actually made him start. Reacting to his surprise, his horse pranced to the side and whinnied  nervously. Once he had gotten his horse under control, he was able to get a better look at the structure that was in front of them. 

It was a pair of huge iron gates set into a massive stone buttress. Flanking the gates were the headless statues of two knights in full armor. The heads in question lay on the ground at the statue’s feet, choked by weeds and scarred by graffiti, as well as what looked like…

“Fuck, are those claw marks?” Errica asked, voicing Adrian’s question.

“Looks like it,” he replied.

“Well, that’s attractive,” she said, always the cheerful one. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

She spurred her horse forward, Adrian followed a bit more reluctantly, and Jaren taking up the rear. 

As they neared the gates, Adrian wondered how they would open such heavy metal gates. He was just about to put the question to the others when it was answered for him as they swung open by themselves with a screech that set his teeth grinding. 

“That’s not creepy at all,” Errica said dryly. There she went, being cheerful again. What would they do without her? They rode through the gates, the footsteps of their horses the only sounds in the deadly silence that seemed to scream through the wisps of fog floating along the ground. 

The gates screeched closed behind them with a bang that made Adrian jump again. 

“Didn’t the letter say something about Barovia being a  _ nice _ place?” Errica asked. Jaren pulled out the letter and scanned it. 

“No, it just says that ‘ _ There is much wealth in this community.’  _ It’s possible the village has resisted whatever evil has claimed this place. Maybe this has something to do with this Ireena Kolyana’s sickness.” He replaced the letter in his satchel. “We should continue.” He nudged his horse into a walk, and the other two followed. 

After traveling for about another half hour, Adrian felt as if he were going to go insane. The silence was unbearable, almost violent in its invasiveness. At this point, he would have welcomed Errica’s horrid singing. He had tried singing himself-- an old marching song from his time in the army-- but his voice had dropped like a stone from his mouth, seeming to be swallowed up by the silence rather than pushing it away. He rode quietly after that. 

All at once, he became aware of a smell on the air-- one he had grown familiar with after surviving countless battles: the smell of something dead, seeming to be coming from the bushes on the right. 

“I smell death,” he announced to the others.

“Oh, is that what that was? I was wondering,” said Errica, without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Adrian paused, wondering whether she was mocking him or not, then decided to ignore it. He slid down from his horse, and Jaren did the same. Adrian pulled his maille hauberk from his saddlebag and shrugged into it quickly, his helm following. Jaren muttered some words and blue light flashed around him, briefly taking the form of a breastplate and helmet before disappearing. Adrian unsheathed his broadsword from where it was strapped on his horses saddle and headed into the undergrowth, Jaren following with his hands free, and Errica reluctantly taking up the rear, her short sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Their preparations took place with practiced ease, and the time from when Adrian first smelled the stench and when he was heading into the bushes was less than two minutes.

About fifteen feet into the dense undergrowth, they came upon the source of the smell, and Adrian would have gasped out loud had he not had so much gruesome experience with dead bodies. 

A small clearing had been trampled into the undergrowth. In the center of the clearing lay the dead body of a young man. He had been mauled viciously, with long claw marks all over him. His clothing, which was worn and patched, had been torn to shreds. The groups appearance startled a group of crows, which flew into the air with loud caws. They had been in the midst of feasting on the man’s face. Both his eyes were now gone, his skull was visible through one cheek, and his lips had been pecked off, making his face seem frozen in a grotesque parody of a smile. Even Errica, who always had some clever quip or bad pun to make, was silenced by the horrifying scene before them.

The undergrowth around the body had been trampled flat, and there were multiple paw prints visible. Wolves, then. Adrian strode over to the body and knelt next to it. His practiced eye roved over the body and the ground near it. He was no tracker, but he had seen enough bodies in his lifetime to be able to tell how long one had been dead, and his best guess was that this one was fairly recent, from yesterday morning at the earliest. He also noticed something else that drew his attention. Clutched in the man’s hand was a crumpled, bloody, mud-stained piece of paper, which Adrian pulled out of the stiff hand and brought it to Jaren, who was standing still, his eyes taking in the scene.

“Read this,” Adrian said, holding the letter out to Jaren. Jaren took it. The wax seal had already been crushed beyond functionality, so he didn’t need to break it. He just pulled the letter out from the envelope and studied it for a while as Adrian tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, Jaren looked up.

“It’s hard to read because the paper got a little wet and the ink bled, but I think I understand it. It’s dated from yesterday.” He began to read it out loud.

_ Hail to thee of might and valor, _

_ I, the Burgomeister of Barovia, send you honor-- with despair. My adopted daughter, Ireena Kolyana, has been these past two nights haunted by a shadowy figure. My son and I have dark suspicions about the nature of this thing in the dark, but these suspicions must be brought out into the harsh light soon enough. I fear that the beast that has been haunting my daughter is the darkest and most foul creature of the night-- the Vampyr. Now, I fear for my dear Ireena’s soul, and the souls of all the others in this unhallowed land, for I believe that the beast has grown too powerful to conquer. _

_ So I say to you, give us up for dead and encircle this land with the symbols of good. Let holy men call upon their power so that the devil may be contained within the walls of weeping Barovia. Leave our sorrows to our graves, and save the world from this evil fate of ours.  _

_ There is much wealth hidden away in this land. Return for your reward after we are all departed for a better life. _

_ Kolyan Indirovich _

_ Burgomeister _

Jaren looked up from the letter. Adrian shook his head in confusion.

“Wasn’t Kolyan Indirovich the guy who sent us the last letter?” Errica asked, her voice mirroring the confusion fogging Adrian’s mind. Jaren pulled the other letter out of his belt satchel.

“Yeah,” he said. “But the handwriting is different. And listen to this: The letters are formatted the same way, like both starting with ‘ _ Hail to thee of might and valor,’ _ but there are subtle differences in the story that they tell. For example, the first one says that Ireena Kolyana is the Burgomeister’s love, but the second says that she’s his adopted daughter. And the first one doesn’t mention any vampires.”

“Well, one of them has to be a forgery, then,” Errica concluded. “Judging from what we’ve seen of Barovia so far, I’d guess the second one is probably the real one.” Adrian was about to respond when his eyes caught something that chilled him to the bone. He rushed over to the bushes to get a better look. There, half hidden by a bush that had sprung back into place, was a massive paw print. He could have fit his whole foot inside of it, and the claw marks dug a full inch into the ground. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, then called to his companions: “Dire wolf! We have to get out of here!” 

“Shit, really?” Errica exclaimed, her face whitening. Adrian stood up, and then froze as a noise floated to them from the distance. The howl of a wolf.

Adrian shared a nervous glance with his companions, one that turned to terror as the one wolf was joined by another. And they were getting closer.

“To the horses! Quick!” Adrian shouted, sprinting in the direction of the road, the other two following in his footsteps. The horses were bucking in terror at the howls, which had now been joined by a fourth wolf. Adrian shoved his sword back into the sheath and vaulted onto the horse, yelling, “Go, go, go!” The horse took off like an arrow, with the other two close behind. The wolves had now been joined by a fifth, and they were close enough that Adrian could hear them moving through the undergrowth. He prayed to Tymora, the Lady of Luck, that there would only be normal wolves, and that the dire wolf was far away.

But Tymora must not have been in the mood today, because a sixth wolf had joined the howling, and this one drowned out all the others, a monstrous sound that seemed to rip through Adrian’s very soul. A massive shape was moving terrifyingly smoothly through the undergrowth to the right.

“Stop!” he yelled to the others, reining his horse in and leaping off. The other two skidded to a halt next to him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Errica screamed at him. Adrian was already running for the nearest tree.

“That’s a fucking dire wolf! We can’t outrun that thing, and we can’t fight it either! Up a tree! Quick!” He swung himself onto the lowest branch and reached for the next one.

“What about the horses?” Errica asked, already running for the tree. 

“Better them than us!”

Jaren reached the tree first, having longer legs than the halfling, and swung himself up with much more grace than Adrian had managed. Errica, however jumped for the lowest branch, but couldn’t quite reach it. Adrian looked to the other side of the road, where the five normal wolves had emerged, quickly surrounding the terrified horses, cutting off their escape. Then the dire wolf emerged. The thing was massive, even for a dire wolf, easily as big as their horses. It had huge, hulking shoulders that stood as tall as Adrian. It growled and started stalking slowly toward a white-faced Errica.

“Hang on, Errica!” Adrian yelled, dropping from the tree, landing on the ground next to her and cupping his hands. She stepped into it, and he boosted her up. He followed as soon as she was on the branch. Looking back, he saw that the dire wolf was charging. In a blind panic, he scrambled up onto the next branch, then the next. As he pulled himself up, he felt the wind from the wolf’s jaws closing millimeters away from his foot.

He looked back to the gory sight of the horses being savaged by the five normal wolves. They were lashing out with their hooves, but the wolves were too quick, darting in and tearing chunks off the horses underbellies whenever they could. Adrian saw one horse go down, then the second. His own horse was the last one to fall, neighing in terror as the wolves converged on it. He sent up a quick prayer for it’s soul to make it to wherever horses went when they died, but he also breathed a sigh of relief that that wasn’t him. He hoped his gear hadn’t gotten too badly damaged, either.

The dire wolf growled as it stalked around the tree, terrifyingly silent in its movements. It made no effort to try to get them, just walked around the tree, staring at the party with its devilish red eyes. Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the wolves were gone, melting into the mist without so much as a leaf rustle. Concerned that they were just waiting to ambush the party, Adrian made the group stay in the tree for another hour before Errica finally put her foot down.

“No,” she said, when Adrian suggested they stay for another ten minutes. “I’ve had it. My feet are sore, I’m hungry, and I think I need to change my pants.” Ignoring Adrian’s warnings, she leaped out of the tree. No wolves came out of nowhere to attack her as she walked over to the dead horses, so the men climbed out of the tree as well, if a bit more cautiously. 

Walking over to his horse, Adrian unstrapped his broadsword and shield from the saddle. Fortunately, the horse hadn’t fallen on the side where he kept them. Unfortunately, the horse  _ had  _ fallen on the side where he kept his food. He used some extra straps and buckles to rig up a way to sling his shield and broadsword on his back. It was just a carrying mechanism, however, as there was no way he could draw his sword from there, but at least he still had his arming sword. If it came down to fighting, he could use that and his shield, but he would have to rig up a more permanent solution for this back sheath.

Errica had lost food as well. She had been carrying all her weapons when they went up the tree, and she was wearing her light leather armor as well. She pulled her sleeping gear and torches off the exposed side of the horse.

Jaren kept his spellbook and dagger on him at all times, so what he had lost was his gear. He kept his food on the other side of the horse, so at least they had some food.

While they were getting all their gear off the horses, Adrian noticed something strange, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then it came to him.

“Guys, I just noticed something.” They turned to him, listening. “Normal wolves would have only attacked us for food. But these horses weren’t killed for food. They still have all the choice meat on them. Those wolves went after the horses because someone-- or something-- doesn’t want us to be able to travel efficiently.”

“Speaking of travel, we should be heading back if we want to be out of here before dark,” Errica said. Adrian was struck dumb.

“What are you talking about? We’re not leaving. We have to help Ireena Kolyana. You heard the letter.” Errica looked at him as if he were insane. 

“Yeah, I heard the letter. Did you? In case you forgot, Kolyan asked us to leave the people of Barovia to their fates. I intend to follow his wise advice.”

“Someone needs our help! He also said there was a lot of wealth here. Don’t you want the money?” Adrian wheedled.

“Of course I want money, but weren’t you just the one telling us we couldn’t fight the dire wolf? Now you’re telling us we should fight the all-powerful vampire lord? You, my friend, need to get your priorities straight.”

“Yes, but with the wolves, it was just our lives on the line. Now it’s someone else’s, an innocent person that you want to give up for dead!” She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting her off. “Here’s an idea. How about we vote on it? I vote we stay. You vote we leave. Jaren?”

Jaren sighed resignedly. Adrian felt bad making him the tiebreaker yet again, but it was necessary. They couldn’t just leave this woman to die.

Jaren seemed deep in thought, and Adrian waited, tense with anticipation. Finally, Jaren said, “I vote we stay.” Relief flooded through Adrian, and he clasped his friend’s shoulder in gratitude as Errica groaned.

“Fine,” she said. “But if we die, my last words will be ‘I told you so.’”

Adrian grinned. It felt unnatural to smile, but it felt good too. “Fair enough,” he said. “Errica, why don’t you climb a tree and get our bearings?”

“I could think of a hundred reasons why not, but I’ll keep them to myself,” she said with a tense smile. Adrian boosted her up into a tree, and she began to climb. Soon, she had been swallowed up by the grey blanket of mist above them. After what seemed like an eternity, she appeared again and dropped to the ground, slightly white in the face and breathing heavily. She bent over, hands on her knees. 

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Adrian said. Errica shook her head.

“No, a castle,” she replied. Adrian was confused.

“You saw a  _ castle _ ?” he asked. “Why are you so pale?”

Errica shook her head again. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It was creepy.”

“Well, what’s the situation?” Adrian asked impatiently. She held up a finger, still catching her breath, then began talking.

“Well, as to the physical aspects of our surroundings, the forest ends soon and opens into a large plain. To the southwest, I saw the tops of houses peeking out of the fog, a couple hours journey from here at least. Beyond the village is a small mountain range, more hills than mountains, really. Above the village on a massive spire of rock is the castle.” She shuddered. “It was one of the most horrifying things I have ever seen. It’s a large, hulking thing, with two towers spearing up from it. I can’t explain what was so unnerving about it, it just was. I felt as though the thing was watching me, exulting in the feeling that it was here before me and it will be here long after my bones have crumbled to dust. I froze as soon as I saw it. That’s why I was up there so long. It took me a while to work up the willpower to move. That’s all I saw.”

Adrian didn’t know what to make of this. How could a castle exult in something? It was more likely just Errica’s nerves playing tricks on her.

“Well, be that as it may, we should try to make it to the village before dark, to see if we can find a warm place to sleep.” Errica looked genuinely scared at the thought, but nodded, and Adrian felt a nagging doubt play in the back of his mind. Something had freaked her out, that was for sure, but he didn’t know what to think of it. 

“Very well,” Jaren said. “Let’s get moving.”


End file.
